


Downy Feathers

by Ebenaceae



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Fluff, In which Merrill names every duck at the docks, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-24
Updated: 2015-10-24
Packaged: 2018-04-27 20:38:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5063260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ebenaceae/pseuds/Ebenaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively: One Duck, Two Ducks, Red Duck, Brooding Duck</p><p>Mi Hawke and Isabela are introduced to Merrill's many new friends at the pier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Downy Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> I've had so much work to do recently. I decided to ignore it all to write this...  
> I desperately need to get back to work.

The day had started blearily. No light streaked in through the windows, all blocked by the grey clouds that had covered Kirkwall’s sky thickly. The cover of clouds made it so Mi Hawke wasn’t sure whether she dragged herself out of bed at morning or noon, but whatever time it was, she unceremoniously stood in front of the window with only hastily put on smalls and a blanket covering her from Hightown’s view. 

She yawned deeply and rubbed tired eyes, not caring. Fighting gangs in the middle of the night was not a favourite pastime of hers, and it was absolutely detrimental to her beauty sleep.

A resounding snore from Mi’s bed reminded her that she was not the only one exhausted. Mi dragged herself and her blanket along to the edge of the bed, where she fell backwards and rolled over onto two shapely brown legs. She hugged Isabela’s legs, their backs facing Mi’s face, she nuzzled into the curve of Isabela’s knees between calf and thigh. She was sleepy, and would gladly stay in bed with her companion for the rest of the morning-and-or-afternoon, but she purposely made a nuisance of herself to wake her sleeping beauty. 

“Nnf. You’re too low, go higher,” Isabela said lazily into her pillow. The pirate could feel Hawke’s grin pressed to her skin, and Mi’s laughter shook the mattress slightly, rousing her more awake.

Mi propped herself on her elbow, still hanging over Isabela’s knees. “Planning to hibernate in my room for the season?” Mi asked innocently, stroking one of her limbs. Isabela moved it out of Mi’s grasp in annoyance, patting her foot on Mi’s abdomen.

“Momma needs her sleep,” Isabela complained. She yawned in her pillow, and shoved her face deeper into it. Mi couldn’t see her features, as wild hair tousled from sleep completely covered her face and most of her bare shoulders.

Striking down criminals in the witching hour was not only Mi’s least favourite activity, if some of Kirkwall’s finest were as tired as they were. Two of the mansion’s occupants shifted comfortably in the comforting bed, starting to drift off once more. Not the third, however. 

Mi had noticed Merrill’s absence beside her when she had woken up. It was not uncommon for Merrill to be the early bird of the house, which was endearing and frustrating at the same time. One day Mi and Isabela would gang up on Merrill to keep her in bed for a long and utterly romantic day, but unfortunately, it was not that day.

The light steps approaching the closed door of their room indicated that Merrill hadn’t truly left yet, pleasing Mi, who smiled lazily to nobody. When the door opened, she sighed contently and stretched before sitting up, looking at the elf by the entrance with her dark eyes lidded. 

“Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to disturb either of you.” Merrill spoke quickly as always, but spoke softly in the dimly-lit room. Mi rubbed at her bleary eyes and tried to focus her sleep-addled brain on her elf paramour.  
Merrill looked crisp and clean and dressed already, certainly having done her morning rituals much, _much_ earlier, and Mi could just imagine what it was like to walk in on your significant others barely dressed—or unabashedly exposed in Isabela’s case.

Mi chuckled lightly. “Didn’t wake us. No bother,” she smiled. “S’at my silverware?” Mi asked, stifling a yawn. She felt the bed shift, establishing Isabela’s attempt to enter the waking world.

Merrill’s face brightened, her wide eyes growing bright with a flutter of lashes. “Oh! Yes, I hope that’s alright, I suppose I didn’t know if humans had a custom about it or not,” she shrugged. Merrill carried a long silver tray, fine embellishments tracing the edges and handles. Her movement made small clatters between the tray and the dishes; saucers, cups and a teapot had been carried carefully with her. “I was thinking, it’s awfully nice when I have a tea in the morning, it’s nice and warm and sometimes it reminds me of the tea my clan would share between us all,” Merrill moved closer, beckoned by Mi’s hand patting the bed beside her. “I wanted to extend the courtesy! It’s quite hot. Wakes you right up, along with warming you, of course.”

Mi took the tray from Merrill’s hands, and Isabela crawled closer. “C’mere, sweet thing,” she purred as Merrill sat, “I know plenty of ways to _warm someone up_.” She latched onto Merrill, pressing her chest into the elf’s back and hugging her close. Merrill laughed when Isabela went to nuzzle herself in the crook of Merrill’s neck, the mage encouragingly brushing through the pirate’s hair with her fingers.

“Now, don’t you think that I don’t know what you’re referring to!” Merrill smiled, resting the hand not going through Isabela’s matted mess of a mane on the dark hands wrapped around her waist and keeping her in place. “I’ve caught on to your little euphemisms. And I can certainly tell you that this is not the morning for that.”

“Aw,” Isabela sighed into Merrill’s fair skin, “you’re so cruel.”

Merrill blinked, pursing her lips. “I didn’t realize it was rude to deny such activities. Oh, _emma athim_ , if I’m interrupting yet another human courtship ritual, I—” Merrill started turning her head to face Isabela, but the other straightened herself and stopped Merrill’s ranting lips in their tracks with her own. The mage quickly melted into the kiss, turning properly and leaning into Isabela’s kiss with a sweet blush.

Isabela laughed softly against Merrill, moving to dust kisses along Merrill’s jaw. “You’re just fine with the courtship rituals, don’t you worry your pretty little head.” She went to trailing down Merrill’s neck, casually taking one of her smaller hands and placing it one one of her bare hips. 

The sound of a loud slurp filled the bedroom, practically making Merrill jump out of her skin and forcing the two women to face Mi, sitting crossed legged in her desk chair with a cup and saucer in her hands. She had apparently shucked on a pair of trousers before she sat down to watch the show. She gave the two performers a wide grin. 

“Don’t mind me, ladies. Didn’t mean to interrupt your spectacle,” she took a much quieter sip of tea, “please continue. Please.” 

“Wait, really?” Merrill trilled. 

“Ugh, Hawke thinks she’s funny,” Isabela tutted, pressing a final kiss to Merrill’s collarbone before retreating. Merrill instinctively turned, seeking her lost source of heat, and was only met with Isabela bending over the edge of the bed, shifting through loose clothing on the floor in a possible attempt to find her smalls. 

Merrill’s face flushed deeper when turning away, but she kept a small smile. “She’s not the only one though. I quite like Hawke’s jokes. She’s even been able to bring out a grin on Fenris. That’s an impressive feat, he never really does laugh or smile, does he? Do you think smiling makes his face hurt?”

“Probably,” Mi concurred. “And thank you, love, it makes me happy to know that at least somebody has a good sense of humour around here.” 

“I think Isabela can be funny too.”

“Ha!” 

Mi rolled her eyes. “You don’t really have to flatter her, love, it only fattens her ego too much,” she told Merrill, eliciting an ungraceful snort from Isabela. Merrill left her seat on the bed, sauntering up to Mi and the tea. Mi handed her a cup and saucer and she’d be damned if Merrill did not have the most endearing smile in all of the Free Marches. 

Isabela was still shuffling to cover herself with something half-decent. She paused, putting her hands on her hips, and looked around the floor. “Where was my bandana thrown _this_ time?” Isabela mused out loud, holding a smirk. 

“Oh! It’s by the bath,” Merrill informed, “I found it on the floor. I folded it up for you. It’s on the counter.”

“Sweetness, you’re simply too good for any of us—kisses!” Isabela almost ran out of the bedroom, determined to retrieve her bandana, leaving Mi having to set her tea back on the tray to prevent it from spilling while she laughed.

Mi took the pause to stand up and find a shirt to go with her lazily put-on trousers—but not before giving Merrill a kiss on her cheek before she walked by. 

Merrill hummed happily. “Did you see the little baggie there? I was hoping it would be noticed.”

“Oh? The canvas thing?” On the tray, there was also a palm-sized bag full of something hard and light. Mi wasn’t sure what it was—she hadn’t opened the drawstring, despite the obvious temptation. “Thought it might be some extra herbs or somesuch. I didn’t open it because I thought my tea was perfect as it was.”

“I—oh! Thank you, Hawke,” Merrill beamed. “But I think it would have been funny if you had opened it… they’re breadcrumbs! ‘Merrill, how curious you are, why carry crumbs!’” 

“ _Why_ bring crumbs into my _bedroom?_ ”

“Well, you know, I know this pleasant little area by the docks where are no boats and no burly, scary men… it took me quite a while to find, actually, it’s so secluded.”

“Burly, scary men? What are we discussing?” Isabela then strode in with swagger, her hair had gone from tangled to perfect in the short time she had been away, and it was all kept under her favourite blue bandana. 

“We’re discussing bread crumbs, apparently,” Mi mused.

“I wasn’t finished, now. In that little secluded area, wouldn’t you believe it—ducks! They’re the little brown ducks that I would find everywhere with my clan. They are simply adorable. Unless you cross them, of course. There was this young hunter who thought he could trick them into his trap, and... well, that’s how we all found out they’re actually quite vicious. Until you feed them!”

Realization flooded over Mi and she smiled warmly, leaning back against her dresser, now in clean and casual clothes. “Did you want us to come feed the ducks, Merrill?”

“That’s _so_ sweet,” Isabela chimed in, draping herself over the elf. “But I actually had plans at the Hanged Man…”

Merrill held her saucer in one hand, and placed the other hand over one of Isabela’s own. She shook her head slightly. “I really wanted you to come because—I swear in the name of the Evanuris!—there is this moody little one who looks like our Fenris!” She said, suppressing a laugh.

Isabela froze, tensing under Merrill’s hand, who turned her head to see what was the matter. Isabela stared intently at the mage. “Are you saying,” she started slowly, “our tiny, pent-up-ball-of-rage warrior is somehow akin to a tiny waterfowl?” She asked, growing a smirk.

“Tiny and vicious! The little Fenris has the white head and everything, you’ll see.”

Isabela hummed deeply in approval. “Oh, he will _never_ hear the end of the bloody duck jokes. I’m in.”

* * *

It was truly a sight to behold. After Merrill had led them down a winding path in the barest edges of the dock area, Mi and Isabela (now completely and properly clothed) came face to face with—just as Merrill said—a flock of ducks, bobbing in the water. 

Mi knew that ravens were very intelligent creatures, assuredly, but she wasn’t sure how similar they were to common ducks—either the water fowl had a similar aptitude for recognizing faces, or there was just something about Merrill that made all wildlife flock to her like a maiden in one of the grand stories Mi’s mother used to tell her. 

Either way, the instant one of the birds recognized the elf with a happy quack, they were all greeted with a dozen brown-feathered loud birds swimming towards them, with Merrill kneeling happily to greet them—apparently, she had even named some of them, if not all. The first one that swam up to Merrill and joyfully made sounds at her was apparently a Miss Nehn'Sahlin. It was an endearing sight, and Mi was gazing at Merrill until Isabela suddenly clapped her hand on Mi’s shoulder.

“Andraste’s billowing bosoms. She was right.” Isabela flicked her head to a small few ducks on the water, a ways away from Merrill still. 

One had thick, golden-brown plumage and towered over the other: a small bird, most likely just growing out of adolescence as indicated by the soft down it still had on its head—soft, fluffy white feathers on the head of a mostly dark-brown and white body. 

It was pecking and chasing away the taller heavily-feathered duck with angry squawks and fluttering wings, splashing the water around him. 

Merrill sat back and put her hand on her cheek, watching the spectacle. “Oh, poor Era'elgar! Little Fenris, _da'len_ , stop that!” She shook her head before turning to her lovers, who had since crouched beside her and were sprinkling Merrill’s breadcrumbs in the water. They both looked up at her trying not to laugh at the sight of Merrill’s promise come true. 

“Is Little Fenris always like this, then?” Mi asked, taking her hand away just quick enough as to not be bit by one of the more ambitious and hungry birds.

“Always like this, truly. Especially to Era’elgar, poor thing. To Clara, too… Clara, Cabot, Dhavihal—err, I think rude behaviour is common with the young ones, maybe.”

Isabela sighed wistfully, turning her attention back to the moody bird. “You know, I never thought I’d ever get to see Fenris’s _Junior_. I imagined what his _little fella_ may have looked like, but seeing it in real life is a great experience.” Mi groaned and nudged Isabela with her elbow unhappily. “What? I’m just saying—oh, Maker…”

“What now?” Mi huffed.

“I just realized. It’s literally Fenris’s _little birdy_ …” Isabela cooed in an almost dreamy sigh again, obviously immensely proud of herself. Mi nudged her again, harder, and almost tipped the woman off-balance. 

“I have a hard time trying to figure out even half of your special euphemisms mean, ‘Bela, I refuse to take part in your duck jokes this time,” Mi told her.

Isabela instantly split into a wide grin. “ _Duck jokes!_ Duck! That’s brilliant! Maker have mercy, aren’t you ever the clever one,” she laughed, leaning on Mi’s side and resting her head on her shoulder. “I love duck jokes.” 

“I don’t imagine they tell very funny ones. Even if they did, we wouldn’t be able to understand them much,” Merrill cut in, trying to tempt the Fenris duck over to them. “Do you think some ducks can talk? Are there demon-possessed ducks?”

“Ducks are so nice, though,” Mi pouted. 

“Perhaps geese, then,” Merrill suggested. “I hate geese. Geese are vile creatures. No offense if you like geese, of course—I’ve never thought to ask _that_ before…”

“No, no, I think you’re right. There are definitely demon-possessed geese,” Isabela stated with a shake of her head.

Mi, between Merrill and Isabela, took their hands in each of her own. “Every goose is a possessed goose. They’ll bite your fingers and eat your dogs and ruin every shore and pier you love. Don’t worry, though, we’ll go goose-hunting one day, finally cleaning up the real scum of Kirkwall.”

Merrill giggled. “To protect Nehn'Sahlin and Era’elga and Little Fenris?”

Isabela nodded deeply. “Oh, to protect big Fenris too—Fenris, Anders, they all need our help being defended against those creatures most foul.”

“I think you mean _fowl, ma vhenan,_ ” Merrill winked. 

Mi groaned in between them, but with a warm and fuzzy feeling that she had become so familiar with spreading through her and causing her to smile.

* * *

Fenris scowled. It was not uncommon for him to scowl, it even seemed to be his default expression. However, his brows rose instead of furrowed. Instead of being simply disgusted, he genuinely looked perplexed. 

“Do you see this?” He asked Varric, gesturing to the trio of Hawke, Merrill and Isabela. Varric had just had a tankard of ale placed in front of him, and had graciously complimented the pretty waitress. They sat in The Hanged Man; they on one side of the bar, the girls at the other.

“See what? How they’ve been laughing in our direction for the past hour? Oh, no, not at all,” he laughed. 

“His pride isn’t worth trying to salvage,” Anders interrupted from the other side of Varric. He nursed a small drink. “Why lie when we can just admit that they’ve literally been pointing at him since he’s got here?” 

Fenris scowled deeper, his eyes narrowing at the mage, though he remained silent as he thought the girls over. He turned his head back to them, and somehow resisted scratching his head in confusion. 

Instead, he grunted.

“Very eloquent,” Anders quietly commented from over the rim of his cup.

“Now, now, Blondie, no need to be baring teeth just yet. We have a mystery on our hands. Broody’s become talk of the town—”

“Maker knows why,” Fenris muttered .

“Exactly. Maker knows why. It’s something valuable worth finding out. I trust you haven’t done anything incriminatingly humiliating in front of our fair ladies?”

“What I would have done to see it if it were so,” Anders said, glaring at the elf and gaining a glare back.

“Absolutely _not_.” Fenris gritted his teeth with the sound of three sets of high-pitched laughter rang from the other side of the bar. He side-eyed Varric and Anders, both of whom stared at him for a reaction; Varric smirked, classically smug, and Anders only pursed his lips and arched a single brow. Fenris grimaced at them both. “Drop it,” he warned with a growl.

Though the other two did submit and kept from mentioning the ladies’ eyes glancing at him every now and then, Fenris kept wondering about it and tried deciphering what it meant throughout the evening. 

At one point during the night, when they had all stood together, Fenris had mostly put his mind at ease about the subject.

However, when Hawke had sized him up in a glaringly obvious manner and commented that she thought that Anders’s feathers would likely suit him more, causing Merrill and Isabela instantly descended into snorts and giggles, Fenris frowned and barely managed to even stammer out a response.

He had no idea what in the Maker’s name they were so obsessed with. And truth be told, he was a little too scared to find out.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish I added in more duck jokes. The puns are irresistible, and I am a horrible person.


End file.
